


Artificial

by albinococonut23



Category: Arashi (Band), Hana Yori Dango & Related Fandoms, Japanese Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Friendship, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albinococonut23/pseuds/albinococonut23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lights of New York paint the city in never-ending light. From the balcony of Jun's hotel room, it's like a surreal second daytime and he finds that comforting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artificial

  
Jun closes his eyes and sees a sweeping spread of colors bleed out in tendrils that snake and split it intricate patterns. Shifting, twining around him and pulling him deeper into the black. He feels ghostly fingertips leave burning trails like small, fluttering footsteps across his skin. They scatter through his hair, down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, settling briefly at the small of his back before flitting away to wrap around his wrists, stroke his palms and spread his fingers. They disappear into all the emptiness around him almost as soon as they appeared, and he would think they hadn’t happened at all if it weren’t for the low burn that sinks through his skin and into the marrow of his bones beneath every point of contact, no matter how small.  
  
Cool air soothes him, tugging at his clothing and pushing his hair to the left. A light touch strokes his side, like those gentle hands but without the familiarly maddening burn. His eyes open too abruptly and his heart shudders creakily with disappointment he should have been prepared for when he only finds the balcony curtains caught in the breeze, fluttering around him like severed wings. A sigh wriggles from his throat but he doesn’t close his eyes again. It’s too easy to believe his own lies -to sink into fantasy and sprout hope- when he’s in the dark.  
  
It isn’t dark outside of his mind. He feels it should be. It would be more tragic, more poetic, if it were dark… and perhaps raining. Instead the lights of New York, and the nearby Time Square, paint the city in never ending light. On the balcony of his hotel room it’s like a surreal second daytime and, despite his homesickness and heartsickness, he finds that constant presence somehow reassuring. In this city, at least, he isn’t the only one who can’t sleep.   
  
God, how he wishes he could though. He feels his shoulders slumping, threatening to crush him under the weight of jet-lag and stress and long hours of moving from one film location to another. He doesn’t have many scenes in this American city so he isn’t staying long. He’s been there a day, two more to go and then he’s on his way back home, leaving the cause for the ache in his chest behind, even if only for a week.  
  
Should he be relieved? In a way he is, it hurts less when there’s distance, but he also knows the other kind of aching, the other kind of longing. There are two, after all. One caused from being so close, but unable to reach out and touch, put what he wants to say into the meaningless conversation between them that he still holds onto like a treasure. The other is one he’s come to fear, from not having enough excuses to meet as often as he longs to, from going long periods without hearing that person’s voice or seeing their face and fearing that when he _does_ all the things he’s bottled up for so long will come rushing out of him like a cracked dam and he’ll drown in the torrent of his own emotions. As it is, he’s barely keeping afloat.  
  
He wonders what people would really think if word happened to get out. It would surely be a shock, the tabloids would go wild. ‘MatsuJun, harboring feelings for his Hanadan costar’. That in itself wouldn’t be so big, the first assumption would be Mao-chan, but no. They have chemistry, yes, but that’s because they get along well as friends. Inoue Mao and him hit it off right from the start, and Jun’s a professional. It shouldn’t be too hard to imagine he can portray a character that is in love with Mao’s Tsukushi, that he can keep well hidden the feelings he has for the man playing Domyouji’s best friend…  
  
But it _would_ be a surprise. He wonders if more fans would be disgusted or pleased to know the truth… As much as he loves his fans, he doesn’t really care what _they_ would think. Not if he compares it to his worry over Oguri Shun’s reaction. He is _positive_ he would not be pleased, but whether he’d react with disgust or pity is something that Jun pretends he doesn’t want to know, despite his thoughts frequently wandering in that direction.  
  
In his pocket his cellphone vibrates gently. It doesn’t startle him, he knows who it is. Slowly he pulls it out, glances at the ID to be sure, and presses end call before shutting the mobile off entirely. As he does he feels like a jerk, but in his current state of mind he doesn’t want to talk, least of all with _him_. He knows most of the cast and a lot of the staff members are downstairs in the hotel’s bar, living it up while their confused body clocks keep them wakeful, but he’s not in the mood. He’s tired, even if he can’t sleep. He’s tired of acting like fire doesn’t singe through his veins and his heart doesn’t race so fast he’s afraid it will stop every time they’re close, with every friendly touch and look and everything. Being Domjouji Tsukasa is one thing, but being Matsumoto Jun is starting to wear away at him, crack by crack, and he’s genuinely afraid that he’ll burst at the seams.  
  
There’s a knock on his door and he frowns. It’s nearly three in the morning, and the knocking is too loud for a floor where people could be potentially sleeping. He ignores it, hoping it’s someone sober enough to assume he’s asleep and leave him be, but the knock comes again and it’s louder this time.  
  
“Jun-kun!” A familiar –but slurred- female voice calls. “Open up, it’s me!”  
  
Jun sighs, but if he leaves her in the hall she’ll wake half the hotel in no time and he knows this. “Mao-chan, it’s late.” He says dryly as the door swings open to reveal the inebriated girl grinning slyly at him and holding two champagne flutes. “I’m trying to—“ But he breaks off, blood chilling and bubbling all at once when another taller, more masculine figure appears behind her.  
  
“Jun-kun!” Shun slurs, clearly even more drunk than Mao. He tries to frown. “You’ve been ignoring my calls!”  
  
Jun swallows. “… What are you doing here? Go back downstairs.”  
  
“No!” Shun frowns darkly at the suggestion, sliding past the girl in front of him and shoving a large bottle of champagne into Jun’s arms before staggering past him and into the dark hotel room. “Don’ wanna.” He says impetuously, and Jun wonders if he’s really being stubborn or if he’s trying to get him riled up.  
  
“Mao-chan, what—“  
  
“Sorry.” She grins apologetically. “I don’t know where he put his room key, and he’s been complaining that he wanted to see you all night. I figured you’d be up.”  
  
“No, hold on a second. I’m trying to sleep.” He lies. “You can’t dump him with _me.”_  
  
“Jun…” She sighs sadly, handing him the glasses too before he can argue. “You’re troubled. It’s lonely up here, right?” She looks at him carefully. “Just let him keep you company. It’s what he wants, and I don’t think you’re entirely against the idea either.”  
  
 _“Mao.”_ He says warningly, but she flashes a peace sign and bounds away.  
  
“See you tomorrow boys!” She giggles as she presses the button for the elevator and the doors slide open almost immediately. “Don’t get too smashed!”  
  
Jun can only go inside, setting the bottle and champagne flutes aside before changing his mind and pouring himself a drink. He gives Shun one too, who sits himself down rather ungracefully on the floor at the foot of the bed.  
  
“I’m happy.” Shun says blissfully, sipping the bubbly liquid. “Mm, it’s good.”  
  
“You’re an idiot.” Jun says lowly, hesitating before sitting beside him.  
  
Shun is unfazed by the insult, turning to him in a way that makes Jun’s heart flutter dangerously and his expressions twist into a frown to hide his fondness.  
  
“I’m really happy, though.” He announces again. “That Jun-kun let me in...”  
  
“I didn’t though. You came in on your own.”  
  
“Well… then because Jun-kun didn’t kick me out yet.” He grinned. “I’m happy.”  
  
 _I don’t have that kind of will power…._  
  
Jun looks up from his thoughts to find his friend’s smile has faded to a serious stare. “…What?”  
  
“... You’re not happy.”  
  
“…”  
  
“I don’t think Jun-kun has been happy for a while… ne? What’s wrong?”  
  
“Stop thinking and pass out already.” Jun gulped down what was left in his flute, reaching for the bottle to refill it.  
  
“… What would make you happy?”  
  
Jun makes the mistake of meeting Shun’s seriously caring expression and nearly spills champagne all over the carpet as his hands begin to shake. “…You.” He says softly, unable to stop himself in time.  
  
Shun smiles a little, pleased but not shocked or excited or appalled. Even as Jun’s fears are placated, he’s a little disappointed that he’s been misunderstood again.  
  
“Ah, I _knew_ you’d wanna hang out with me!” Shun extends his own empty glass, and Jun fills it halfway for him. “So then, what—“ He looks thoughtful, like he can’t remember where he was going or how to put a sentence together. “…What makes you sad, then?”  
  
Jun stares at him, setting the bottle aside. _‘You.’_ He wants to answer. _‘You make me everything.’_  
  
“I don’t know.” He answers instead. “I’m just tired… maybe a little homesick.”  
  
Shun nods, looking relieved that there doesn’t seem to be anything really serious. “Oh me too… All this filming is crazy, right? But I’ll miss it when we’re done…” He finishes his drink.  
  
Jun watches him, eyes following the bob of his Adams apple as he swallows and the way he lowers his eyes when he talks about things that lower his mood. The moonlight from the balcony door beyond him lights up his features on one side and hides him in shadows on the other, from Jun’s perspective he looks like he’s glowing with a silvery white aura. He can’t look away, and he feels like his throat is burning.  
  
 _I’ll miss you, like this, more than anything…_  
  
Shun sighs, leaning his head back against the bed and closing his eyes. Jun sips his drink slowly, and by the time he’s somewhat buzzed and the glass is empty, Shun is breathing deep and even, sound asleep beside him.  
  
He’s glad he can blame the alcohol in the morning for making him cuddly as he scoots closer, pressing himself warm and cozy against Shun’s side and draping Shun’s arm around his shoulders in a loose embrace. He commits every place where they make contact to memory, like a silent movie he can play at will that sets his skin burning in fluttering pathways of invisible touches.  
  
He’s never been more comfortable, and his heart has never ached so deeply.  
  
“I love you.” He whispers, though nobody hears him. “I’m really in love with you.”  
  
Artificial light gives way slowly to the sun’s rays, and still Jun doesn’t sleep.  
  
 _Just two more days to go.  
_


End file.
